Travel Escapism
Written on 2024-08-24
I've been pondering about the nature of reality and our attempts to escape it.
I’ve always loved historic tours, particularly those that weave stories from the grandiose down to intimate details. It’s like taking in the entirety of a beautifully arranged platter before savouring each morsel.
My recent visit to two of King Ludwig II’s masterpieces in Bavaria—Linderhof Palace and Neuschwanstein Castle—was no exception. Too enamoured by travel planning, I didn't bother doing any research on the places I was visiting. Hence I expected these to be ancient relics, steeped in medieval history, but I was surprised to learn they were relatively recent constructions, dating to the late 19th century. The true Golden Age of castles had ended centuries before.
Linderhof Palace, though less overrun by tourists than Neuschwanstein, is still a frequented site, nestled a good fifteen-minute drive from the nearest town. Neuschwanstein, perched on a rock ledge in the Bavarian Alps, was a sight to behold. Imagine living in a castle surrounded by mountains and overlooking a serene lake—it’s no wonder King Ludwig used this as a retreat, a way to escape from reality.
Our castle guide remarked that Ludwig, often called the “mad king,” was known for his peculiar habits: sleeping during the day, waking at night, and immersing himself in fairy-tale worlds, aided by flickering candlelight and evocative paintings that adorned his walls. But she also mused that perhaps Ludwig wasn’t so mad after all.
Don’t we all, in some way, seek escape?
Whether it’s by sitting in darkened rooms, watching films that transport us to other worlds—like The Lord of the Rings, as she mentioned—or through other forms of escapism, we are not so different from Ludwig. Most of us chuckled, but these words brought me back to a recent memory that I'd tried to bury.
Sometimes, we use travel as a means to escape. But is escape ever truly possible?
A few days before that trip I'd been in Innsbruck, walking along the river Inn after a pricey seafood dinner. Runners sped by, mirroring the freedom I felt during a fulfilling long run earlier that week, unburdened by metrics or performance pressures. That run was such a respite, away from the heat and humidity of Singapore.
Later, as we headed back to the hotel, I noticed a couple sprinting up a small incline to a bridge. First the woman, then the man followed. My instinctive thought was that it was a quirky yet admirable effort—hill sprints on a short incline, why not?
But then I realized what they were running toward. The woman reached a middle-aged man who was sitting on the edge of the bridge, one leg dangling over the water. She grabbed hold of him, pleading with him to come down, while the man following her patted him on the back, probably telling him it wasn’t worth it.
I remember asking my dad, "It's sad, isn't it?" as we walked back to our room. The presence of police and an ambulance later made me wonder about the man's fate. Even now, a few weeks removed from that incident, I feel ashamed that I cannot fully convey the gravity of that moment.
There I was, surrounded by the awe-inspiring beauty of a valley city encircled by majestic mountains, while another person stood on the brink of ending his life.
The next day, my dad and I walked across that same bridge to a laundromat opposite our hotel. I couldn’t help but wonder if the man made it back onto the platform, if he chose to hold on for another day.
A few days after, I read about a doctor who couldn’t save a two-day-old baby. And in that same Instagram doomscrolling session, I chanced upon another tragic story of four-day-old twins killed in an airstrike, while their father was out collecting their birth certificates.
These were reminders that all life, whether through voluntary or involuntary means, must eventually come to an end. Pain, suffering or death is always round the corner. We have a choice of averting our gaze; its presence will still remain. No amount of running can distance us from this truth, even if it (running) takes us to places of extreme beauty.
In the end, King Ludwig died a mysterious death. Whether he was murdered or took his own life, no one truly knows.
Today, we don't have to create castles in faraway lands. In fact, it’s easier than ever to create alternate realities for ourselves. With VR, AI companions (ahem), and even vacations to distant lands, we can retreat into our own little bubbles, blissfully unaware of the world outside.
What is the reality that we live in, and what are we escaping from?